Glad this is here, I need to vent. Please don't feel obligated to respond to this, I just need to get it out and move along.
I don't often feel rubbish about the stuff I create but when I finally get fed up, I really get fed up. I'm not even pissed off about anything in particular but right now I just want to pick up my work, tear it to shreds and scream ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT. Aaaaah! I mean, why am I even doing this? What for?? What do I actually get from any of it besides a huge headache and brief, silly periods of pride? I'm so damn tired and my progress is so petty, how long can I keep going like this? What do I possibly stand to gain? I wake up, work myself to the bone, rest, and start all over again. Every. Damn. Day. I barely sleep, barely eat, rarely see anyone, and yet I still have this stupid sense of urgency hanging over my head like time is running out and I have to keep going because to give up would just kill me. So I keep plodding on and on, and every now and again I stop for a moment and come up for air and look around at who I am and what I'm doing and say why?. I'm poor, I'm alone, no one knows what I'm doing, it never amounts to anything and I'm not even sure what I want. My entire life is contained within the walls of my house and my office. I am a drop in the god damn ocean, what's the point in trying at all? And then I remember that I have so much to be grateful for-- wonderful, loyal readers who are genuinely invested in the story I'm trying to tell, a small but intimate family, some fantastically dedicated friends-- but Christ, there is*nothing* any one of them could say to change the absolute indifference I feel towards my own achievements. Nothing is good enough. Nothing is as it should be. I don't want thousands of followers or ridiculous success or even recognition, I just want to be happy and I never am, I'm just move between entirely pissed off and empty as a drum. It sounds like depression, but I don't think it is. I'm just disappointed. My whole life revolves around chasing something that never comes. Careers, relationships, personal goals...so many disappointments. And then so much confusion as I try to figure out if those are the things I wanted in the first place. Or if any of it even matters. Maybe I'm trying to hard. Trying, but not caring. I'm just a machine at this point, I work but I don't know why. Fuck I need a holiday.